


Storage

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Series: The Simp Chronicles Smutty Oneshots [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Making Out, Marking, Shameless Smut, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, ain’t no anal here 😭😭, lmao sike, which i DONT CONDONE WRAP IT UP KIDS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: He’s not the first cherry you’ve popped and he won’t be the lastOrIn which you take Eren’s virginity in a storage cupboard.
Relationships: Eren Yeager/Reader
Series: The Simp Chronicles Smutty Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779688
Comments: 5
Kudos: 271





	Storage

**Author's Note:**

> Hi simps 
> 
> Wrote this a while ago I know no one asked for it but I thought I’d post to hold you guys over until I can finish up the next chapter of the simp chronicles
> 
> If you’re new then HI UWUWUWU this is an independent smut that you can read without having looked at my fic the simp chronicles but feel free to read it if you want 👩❤️💋👩 it’s supposed to be funny or whateva
> 
> Side note: eren is aged up here as are all the character in TSC —he’s 19 pushing 20 luv

  
The first thing you notice about the storage room is how dusty it is. Every inch of the room is sheathed in a light albeit cloudy layer of grime and, for the slightest of seconds, your breath catches in your throat because the air is so thick that it jags it’s way into your lungs and _suffocates_ you.  


  
The second thing that you notice about the storage room is how small it is. It’s impossibly tiny, perhaps seeming even smaller than is because of the inconsequential collection of clutter that fills it. It’s mostly forgotten cleaning products, old sprays with broken nozzles and broom sticks with splintered handles and in a strange, inexpressible way, the mundanity of the room seems _wrong_ to you.  


  
It isn’t until you look back at Yaeger’s nervous, pleading eyes that you understand why.  


  
Yaeger is an intense person. He’s overwhelming in the most deliciously of sour ways—like a bitter candy that numbs your tongue upon the first taste but slowly, softly, sweetens as it melts in your mouth. He has a way about him, an energy, that seems too large for this room to ever possibly contain.  


  
It’s stupid and nothing more than a fleeting thought lost in a sea of many other stupid, fleeting thoughts but, for a moment, you believe that the room might catch fire if you take this any further than you already have.  


  
He’s too hot, too passionate, too wanting and willing for this to end well.  


  
”You sure you wanna do this?” You turn, keeping your tone as languid and flat as possible because tone plays a tragically pivotal part in the art seduction.  


  
It’s basic science. The right tone, carefully measured and equally silken, can lead to the most exhilarating of encounters.  


  
You like to think of yourself as show-woman on dark nights like these, when the moon is replete with light and mystery and the air cuts crisp upon your flesh. You live to please your audience, you breathe to bring them pleasure but you need to make certain that they know what sort of show they’ve decided to watch—what they’re choosing to indulge in.  


  
The show you put on is beautiful, in an ugly sort of way. It’s paralysing and all-consuming and _raw_. There’s no time for funny little pretence when you’ve got a cock sliding in and out of you and more than often, shatters the perception people hold of themselves—revealing the luxurious brutality of human nature that is usually stifled. You’d rather not traumatise him, lovely boyish thing he is, with terrible adult truths.  


  
He nods, slowly yet eagerly. You have to work to hide your disgust. He’s so sweet, so pretty and completely untouched—ready for you to unwrap— but so unwaveringly desperate. So desperate, in fact, that he’d have his first time in a dingy, dirty storage room.  


  
It would be unattractive, perhaps, if his eyes weren’t so green.  


  
He nods again, though stronger and more soldierly this time. He’s trembling, his whole body is trembling—vibrating with anxious excitement, as he clutches a brightly-burning lantern.  


  
“Mm,” You regard his face carefully, as though deliberating whether or not you want to take him, purely just to admire the panicked creasing of his brows when he thinks you’re going to walk out on him and leave him—all alone and semi-hard.  


  
You don’t. You want him.  


  
”—Alright, Yeager. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You smile, all dimples and charm and he melts at the sight, breath hitching in his throat.  


  
Virgins are always so cute.  


  
You take him by the mouth first. It’s painfully chaste, a gentle grazing of flesh that shocks him. Yaeger, in all his misguided passion, is a forceful thing and as a result, expects everything that surrounds him to possess the same terrible force. He most probably believes sex to be an animal, angry thing that is all drawn blood and loud cries and an awful bruising pace and _it is_ , at times but not with him.  


  
Not for his first time.  


  
You deepen the kiss, mouth working up against his own until you’re sucking and licking and spitting until his lips are swollen. He groans as though in excruciating pain and you suppose that he is because everything hurts Yaeger.  


  
He carries his pain on his shoulders and bares the weight openly, brandishes it like a badge of honour and you challenge yourself to knock it off until he’s nothing but a screaming mess of pleasure and sex and _more more more I want more—_

  
”Fuck,” He pants against you, grinding his erection into your thigh. It’s laughably awkward, with Eren’s tall height and the low ceiling and the terrible craning of his neck and the heat of his mouth and _what isn’t awkward about this_?  


  
He clutches the shelf next to him for support, little grains of dust sticking to his fingers. It sickens you, secretly, but you don’t make a point of expressing it. You’ve fucked people in far dustier, much smaller storage rooms, you suppose.  


  
”—You taste like sex.” He breathes, eyes impossible wide and adoring. You let yourself laugh at his words, feeling your shoulders shake the force of it all.  


  
It’s a stupid thing to say, really, because what _does_ sex taste like? Does it have a definitive taste or does it differ from person to person—like sweets and candies and delicious things that are bad for people but are indulged in anyway? Even so, what would Yaeger in all of his inexperience and clumsiness know of sex and it’s flavours? He’s a virgin, he doesn’t _know_ what sex tastes like and it makes you chuckle so deeply, you fear that you’ve cracked a rib.  


  
”Come here, sweetheart,” You murmur against his lips. “—Let me take care of you.”  


  
And so you do. You’re gentle—perhaps more than you’d like to be—but gentle nonetheless. You kiss the flesh of his neck, mark it with careful, biting teeth and a wriggling, insatiable tongue and he _loves_ it. Good. You won’t let him forget this night so easily. You’ll burn it into his memory, bruise it into his skin, until every time he sticks his cock into something, _you_ are the only thing he can think of. You you you, with your gentle touch and hard eyes.  


  
He rocks against your palm which glides smoothly over his clothed crotch. You feel his cock twitch under the fabric, feel it’s luscious curves and the weeping, soaking tip that threatens to burst from inside of it.  


You don’t give it to him so easily.  


  
You’ll make him beg for it first, you decide, because Yaeger has too much resolve for your liking. Everything is a fight when it comes to him, everything has to be a struggle and you refuse to accept that. No. When he’s with you, there will no fighting or struggling—only submission.  


  
Knotting your free hand into his hair, you tug until his head is forced backwards and the thick column of his neck is bared.  


  
”I want you naked. Can you do that for me?”  


  
His brows are knitted together, eyes clouded in wanton indolence but he agrees with a soft ‘yes’ and begins to shed his clothing. You watch him carefully, whilst peeling the cotton from your own limbs and _hiss_ when he finally stands before you, naked as the day he was born.  


  
There is still something boyish about his body—an endearing lankiness about it but that doesn’t stop it from knocking the breath out of your lungs. He’s finely cut and carefully crafted, muscle bulging out from his arms and a firm thickness in his thighs. There is something akin to glass in his form, something that makes you feel as though he’ll break upon the slightest of touches.  


  
You grip him tighter than ever.  


  
”You’re beautiful, Yeager,” Sucking lightly on his tongue, you can’t help but break away and praise him, worship him, for the Godliness of his physique. “—So so beautiful.”  


  
His hands grip your bare waist, a heavy blush sitting atop of his cheekbones.  


  
“I should be saying that about you.”  


  
And there’s something resonant in his words, a crush beginning to form, an affection that will ultimately doom him but you ignore it because he’s naked and you’re naked and this moment is too important to get sidetracked by fickle things like _feelings_.  


  
He sits down. You suck his cock. It’s thick and angry, a intriguing reflection of its owner, but stands proudly against his stomach. It leaks to no end, buckets of pre-cum spilling into your mouth and his balls are glorious—large and heavy as you take them in your mouth. You lick stripes up and down his shaft, twirl your tongue around it’s width with the a level of expertise that _should_ make you feel ashamed you but really doesn’t.  


  
He thrusts his hips up, forcing his cock back into your throat, in the horribly intense heat of his pleasure. It doesn’t shock you too much. This is his first time and, often, virgins have very little control over their bodies. It’s sweet, in a disgusting, crude sort of way but you’ve always taken a fancy to disgusting, crude things.  


  
He’s not the first cherry you’ve ever popped and he won’t be the last. On that note, you breathe through your nose and take him in as deeply as you can.  


  
”Please...please...” He licks his lips, begging for something that he can’t even put into words. You laugh, once more, and it makes him burn even brighter, hotter, angrier in your mouth.  


  
_He’s touchy_ , you note. He fists at your hair, your nape, your shoulders—any bit of skin he can have, he takes. It’s cute. He’s cute.  


  
”I feel...I’m gonna...” He rasps, feeling the sharpness of orgasm slice him.  


  
_No, you’re not._  


  
You pull away from his cock, a lewd ‘pop, sounding through the air. It takes him a moment to register the absence of your mouth and the cool, cruel breeze kissing it instead. You lick your lips in amusement, savouring the saltiness that clings to your mouth.  


  
”...What? Why? Why did you—“ He questions with hooded, dark eyes and a voice that breaks and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he looks _betrayed_.  


  
You suck the remainder of his cum off of your fingers in silence and he watches, tongue darting out and sliding over the dryness of his own mouth. His cock twitches at the sight, his breath becomes more laboured, more strained—as though he has to work to keep the air in his lungs.  


  
”Because, Yaeger, I want you to cum inside of me.” You tell him with a smile and he _sobs_ in response, head lulling back and hips thrusting up.  


  
You climb on-top of him and place a kiss on the tip of his nose. You’ve always liked his face, those devastatingly green eyes and deliciously tawny complexion but his nose—his nose is childlike and prettily upturned. It adds youth to a face that has been aged with tragedy.  


  
He lets out a strangled, ugly sort of sound as you let him inside of you. It drags on and shakes and loses strength and you sink lower, eventually taking him to the hilt and then— _silence_.  


  
His fingers clutch the sides of your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes as you sit on his cock. He wants to make this loving and romantic and intimate and everything that a quickie in a storage room shouldn’t be. So you don’t allow him.  


  
”Shit!” He yelps as you begin to roll your hips.  


  
The pace is slower than what you’d like, what you’re usually accustomed to, but it wouldn’t hurt to take it slowly—especially for Yaeger who looks so enthralled by you, by your sex, that he might just suffocate and die.  


  
It feels good and he fills you nicely, stretching out your walls and testing your limits. It’s been a while since you’ve had something inside of you so deeply. You’ve missed it.  


  
”You like that? You like it when I ride your cock?” You smile against the shell of his ear, voice light with wanton laughter, and he can only let out a guttural, incoherent sound that rumbles from the back of his throat.  


  
It sounds like a clap of thunder—sudden and terrifying but beautiful nonetheless. You’ve heard Yeager scream before, you’ve seen him lose himself in anger and pain and terror but Yaeger, when immersed in the heat of a wet, tight pussy, is a something special. The sounds are the sweetest melody, the most decadent symphony and only _you_ have the right to listen to it.  


  
He has stamina, rocking his cock upwards to meet your hips but possesses an undeniably clumsiness. He fumbles up the pacing with his sporadic thrusts, he trembles so harshly that he slips out of you once every while, he’s forceful one second and tender the next and when you look at his face—you understand why.  


  
His eyes are screwed shut, tears pouring from the sides and his pink, long tongue poking out of his mouth and swiping over his lips. The pleasure is so deep that it scares him. He’s never felt something so terribly good before. Not until you. Not until your came along with your child-like carelessness and dirty propositions. Everything comes back to you you you.  


  
”Yes.. _yes yes yes yes yes_...” He chants that words like they’re all he knows how to say.  


  
Eren grumbles, as your hands slide over his chest, sliding your hands over his marbled, broad chest. He feels to good to be true—like those old childhood tales that you’d read of handsome, alluring Gods who would come down from the Heavens to play amongst the mortals.  


  
It’s feverish, with plumes of dust flying about the place and slick skin slapping against each other, but Yeager doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t care that someone could easily hear his anguished whines from outside or even turn the knob and walk through the door, only to find him pumping into you.  


  
Eren Yaeger has never been one to shy away from danger.  


  
Still, this feels strangely soft and stupid and messy and uncomfortable in the way that all first times are.  


  
”You’re doing...so good, so perfect, so perfect for me...”” You pant as he knots his fingers into your hair.  


  
It’s that final praise, that acknowledgement of his skill, that brings him to climax. He spills inside of you, a strangled whine erupting from within his throat. You watch him.  


  
His face is undeniably gorgeous when he comes, half shrouded in darkness and the other, illuminated by the burning of candle light.  


  
He leans up against the wall, chest heaving. You slide off of him and he blinks, as though  


  
”You didn’t...” To which you shake your head,  


  
”It doesn’t always happen.” You smile, catching your breath lightly and Yeager, at the very least, looks incredibly insulted.  


  
”It should.”  


  
”It didn’t.”  


  
”No,” He furrows his brows deeply and you sigh. He’s going to wrinkle forehead prematurely if he persists with these ridiculous expressions. “—What kind of a man would I be I didn’t take care of you? Let me make do it, please.”  


  
He’s tired out, purely running off his boyish sense of ego and yet—you can’t help the sliver of affection it makes you feel. It’s a sweet sentiment.  


  
You blow an amused huff of air of your nose and he looks somewhat insulted by it, expression hardening. Yaeger’s always been hot-headed, notorious for his outbursts amongst your fellow cadets.  


  
”Aren’t you tired?” You laugh but he only maintains his sullenly determine expression.  


  
It’s clear his ego is a taking a bruising now and you don’t want him to think back to his first time and feel nothing but embarrassment. He can’t help his sexual ineptitude but you can appreciate how enthusiastic he is to gain more experience.  


  
He grips you hand, somewhat pleadingly. You look down at it, noting how large it is compared to your own.  


  
”If you didn’t have such nice fingers, I’d say no.”  



End file.
